Pokémon Fool's Gold | Orre & Galar Fanfiction

Chapter 60: History Repeated... Again

Armed with Rosen's real name, Fayiz began working through a list of hotels and B&Bs in Motostoke. Most had already heard from him or the police. Weary receptionists and landlords were annoyed by the Champion showing up in the middle of the night, but not surprised. A Gretchen was staying at the Budew Drop Inn. The receptionist surreptitiously showed Fayiz their photocopy of her passport. It wasn't her. He was impatiently determined to solve this so he never had to think about it again. At least Skord wasn't tired. 4AM in Galar was 8PM in Orre.

I think I'm starting to get why dad wanted to lose his title...

Opening a pub's creaky door, they were enveloped by the odour of stale booze. Glasses clinked. A disgruntled bartender glanced up. At least most of the grumpy old men didn't ask Fayiz for photos. He hated how tired he looked.

'Shouldn't ye be in bed, Champion?'

'Is a Gretchen Manning staying here, by any chance? She also goes by Rosen Raco.'

'I'd be bloody lucky! Business 'as been slower than Slowpoke since she showed up. 'Ave ye tried The Thirsty Thievul? All sorts o' strange types at that place.'

'Where even is that? I've not seen it on the Town Map.'

'Aye, ye can't find it online. One minute...'

He took a map from a crowded rack to scribble directions. 'Ye can only get in from the back. Watch yourselves on the steps. They've seen better days.'

'I'll have a look. Thanks, mate.'

'Stay safe, won't ye?'

'Not to worry. Wherever we find her, we'll have a champion time!'

The old man smiled sadly as the door rocked shut. He actually watched most of Fayiz's matches. His grandson was a huge fan. They were as guilty as anyone of consuming the carefully crafted and marketed image of a child star. He still couldn't help wondering, hypocritical or not, if it was right that a 13 year-old was scouring Motostoke for a murderer at 4AM. He laid his cloth down. His keys jingled as he hesitantly plucked them from a hook. He put them back. What could he possibly do to protect the unbeatable Champion? He was just an old man with a team of Indeedee who'd never even attempted the Gym Challenge. Fayiz was supposed to protect him.

The alleyway leading to The Thirsty Thievul reeked of urine and garbage. Needles were scattered across the damp concrete. It was impossible to tell there was anything but grubby flats here. Climbing the rickety steps felt like trespassing. Inteleon pointed. There were hand-written 'open' and 'rooms available' signs in the window. Fayiz wrapped his cape around his hand to pull the door handle. He wasn't squeamish, but he was sure the stains on the flaking wood were blood. The reception that served as a sleazy pub was dimly lit to hide grime. Booze mingled with cigarette smoke. Two Nickit skulked about. Fayiz told Skord to watch his pockets. The smoking bartender, a fresh-faced young man who looked as if he couldn't possibly work in this filthy place, surveyed them curiously.

'...Champion. What can I do for you?'

He leaned in with a creeping grin. 'After a lady?'

'No, thanks. Is a Gretchen Manning or Rosen Raco staying here?'

'Can't tell you. Confidentiality and all.'

'Yeah, but I'm sure you know I have police permission.'

'Look, Champ. Have a good look at the room you're in. Do you think the kind of people who stay here want me to give their identities away? Have a guess.'

Fayiz rolled his eyes. He reached into his pocket to produce a crispy P1,000 note. The bartender snatched it.

'Thanks! You won't miss that, will you?'